9.25.2007

Salt Smoke

I remember salt smoke from a beach fireAnd shadows under the pines--Solid, clean...fixed--Seagulls perched at the tip of land,White upon green...And a wind comes through the pinesTo sway the shadows;The seagulls spread their wings,LiftAnd fill the sky with screeches.And I hear the windBlowing across our beach,And the surf,and I see that our fireHas scorched the seaweed.